Spray flew from their
bows as they carved back to land 100 foot long, and narrow
gutted Surfing in on the incoming
tide Full bags of Bluffs
best stacked for the opening Men in bush shirts and
Swannis, crowded into small galleys To wrap cold fingers
around hot mug's cup of coffee Drying and shaking their
hair Joshing each other as
mates do

The wires and stays are
taunt and the dredges rattle As the skipper steers
his Golden boat home The swell pushing them
makes for a clean run To Port and home To be greeted by scurrying
fitters welders To repair the damage
of the day Draping coils of welding
gear aboard Over benches cleaned
by the sea and wind

The repairs are made
and bags winched away The engine checked over
for another day Tomorrow when once again
the strait will Hold its harvest deep
and throw wind and rain Sea water and foam at
the Golden boats.

Ewan Elliott 04 July 99

Copyright (c) Ewan Elliott

THE EXCUSES

Trialling complacency in the
face of overwhelming proof Of mass graves dug and found,
containing naught but... "It can't have been us We
would have made a better job"
"You would never have found them"
"It must have been someone else"